


Binary

by Lyonface



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: End of Evangelion, Inspired by..., Post Season 3, post wotl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-08
Updated: 2016-11-08
Packaged: 2018-08-29 22:24:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8507824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyonface/pseuds/Lyonface
Summary: Will struggles with the realization that he's still alive, and so is Hannibal.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Could be Hannigram, but written so that it can go either way.
> 
> I realized with startling clarity that the very last scene from End of Evangelion would be a perfect base for the follow up scene post cliff diving after the Wrath of the Lamb.

Will took a breath. The smell of brine and the sound of the ocean lapping gently against the sands of the beach were the first things to greet him as he regained consciousness, followed swiftly by the searing pain of salt in the open wounds in his cheek and shoulder. The air shuddered as it rushed into his lungs, the burn from the water coming to him to harmonize with the bleeding sizzle along the soft tissue inside his mouth. The sky was dark, illuminated by a spattering of twinkling stars against the hazy gegenschein of the dust of their comrades. The smear was a blotch against the rich night sky, blood settling just under the skin of the universe like a bruise that never healed. As his eyes fixed on the shimmering wound in the sky, some small voice in him reminded him of his name and where he was, a small habit long abandoned and forgotten seeping back in after all these years.

            Twisting his head just slightly, he looked off into the distance across the water. Just barely, he could make out the lights from the house sitting on the ever eroding bluff, waiting to dive into the sea just as he had. The dive had been far more tranquil than he imagined it would be as he had clung to him, betraying him one last time. Even though it had happened moments ago, it felt like his entire life had been building up to a moment just like that, an ultimate betrayal of himself and the one closest to him as the darkness finally spread to cover his heart.

            He became keenly aware of the soaked state of his clothes, of his hair, his skin. The water and blood settled over him like a cold blanket, and the realization that he had survived the fall from that cliff surged adrenaline back into his veins, his heart expanding before kicking into a gallop in his aching chest. The rush of blood contrasted against his chilled, cold skin and he let out a strangled breath, bursting into a cloud of mist above him until it rose and swiftly disappeared. The burning irritation in his lungs hissed and he coughed.

            A groan escaped him as he pushed himself to sit up, his voice sounding muffled against his waterlogged ear drums. He looked at the blood settling over his shirt and rung around his collar like a draped cowl, feeling the ache of movement as he sat upright. The shock of being alive hit him in full force as his breathing finally reached his ears and he started to shake, squeezing his eyes shut against the reality of his becoming, an evolution he had fought against and run away from, but desired all the same. The hard splash into the cold Atlantic was supposed to be the end of all of this, to stop what he had been avoiding for so long, what he had feared for even longer before that. He hadn’t expected the horns to feel so light; he had always imagined the weight to be much more a burden than they felt, growing and branching from him with an aftershock of euphoria that he’d dreaded. They had always looked so menacing and yet so heavy on the wendigo, even if Hannibal could wear them with ease. Hannibal could wear anything with ease, from the finest tailored windowpane suits with bright ties to white button up covered in blood and sweat. Hannibal was a monster in wolf’s clothing.

            Hannibal.

            A huff of hot air came from behind his ear, familiar now of all the times the stag in his mind had used it signal his attention, a prickling tug at the edge of his senses to steer him towards this inevitability. He had hoped his death would prevent it from growing to its peak, solidifying in the corners of his design, changing the palette of himself to something new, something darker. His layer of paint was peeling off, and as he turned towards the sound behind him, he was not met with the stag, the feathers of its black and radiant yet foreboding beauty shaking gently in the wind, but Hannibal lying supine in the sand beside him.

            Will’s eyes grew wide, almost audibly hearing the paint being forcibly torn from his canvas. Dread unfurled in his gut, dread that he had died, dread that he had lived. His mind began to whirl with the conflicting wants and desires he had towards his former psychiatrist, the Chesapeake Ripper, Hannibal the Cannibal, Dr. Lecter. Hannibal. The crashing of the waves became unbearably loud in the moment as he took in his wounded state, the blood once smeared over his face and mouth from tearing out the Red Dragon’s throat now gone, though the blood staining his grey sweater remained, bloomed dark over his shoulders and chest. The sand underneath his abdomen was slowly turning black, the gun shot that pierced through him still bleeding and staining the ground beneath him. He looked almost vulnerable, bleeding out onto the beach, but Will knew better. It takes a monster to know a monster, and he knew Hannibal. And Hannibal knew him.

            Will’s body shook back and forth for a moment, teetering on the edge of something, some subconscious push and pull to throw his sails up to be caught by the wind and send him careening into the waves to drown there, or to break his barge along the shore and die here. He flipped himself on to his knees, sand shifting almost silently under him as he crawled to straddle Hannibal, his legs on either side of his cold, wet torso. Damp, dark curls shifted over the spectrum of his eyes as he gazed down on his face, pupils fat and open as they rested on his pale cheekbones, the dirty wet hair just barely splayed away from his face. He noticed a pulse, a flex along the side of his neck as Hannibal swallowed under him, and his pupils constricted to a pinpoint, bringing his hands up to close around his exposed throat.

            Blood and waves rang in his ears as his fingers squeezed to cut off his breathing, palms pressing against the curve of his adam’s apple as he leaned on to his knees, digging into the bloody shore. He shook as he watched Hannibal struggle under him, barely conscious enough to register him let alone fight back. Will’s hair weaved and bounced with his efforts, his body struggling to stay up with the exhaustion from their near death. His mind struggled to find a voice between stopping him and encouraging him, between having him celebrate his complete and utter failure or to snuff it out with one last push. His breathing was becoming erratic, hot breath hissing between his teeth before he clenched them shut, steam coming from his flared, angry nostrils instead as his roiling blue eyes glared almost unseeing into the face of the other.

            Hannibal’s eyes rolled as he opened them, mouth agape in an attempt to swallow air into his lungs with no real success. Will realized he was coming to, that he would see him as he killed him, and the sick feeling in his gut churned again into something else. He let out a strangled sound as his vision began to blur, Hannibal’s dark eyes fixing on his face. He didn’t fight back, only continued to try and breathe as Will’s weight fell further onto the column of his throat, his windpipe slowly crushing under the weight of the monster he’d helped create, the beast he’d unleashed.

            Will could feel Hannibal’s wounded abdomen strain under his legs as he became lost in his haze, haggard and desperate breaths coming back through his teeth now as his eyes and nose burned, his throat boiling with a scream that weighed heavy on the back of his tongue, poised to spring from him at any moment. He watched as the blurry shape of Hannibal’s face moved just a fraction, the pale skin of his face turning red as consciousness would surely flee from him soon, freeing Will from him, freeing the world from him, freeing him from Will and the monster he’d unleashed, that he’d recognized and dared to bring to the surface. Black antlers reached up like thorny fingers towards the sky, grasping for the light that it would never reach. The tearing and prickle of them pulled at the skin in the back of Will’s head, the urge and desire to murder pulling at his heart with cold and icy claws.

            A touch against Will’s face stopped him. His body froze as he stared at the blurry shape of Hannibal underneath him. He blinked, clearing his vision, and the tears cascaded to sit against the heated, strained skin of the other man’s face, now clear for Will to see. His eyebrows were pensive with the fight for air, but he there was no malice or anger in his eyes. The tears slid minutely before falling down his cheeks towards the sand, and Will realized Hannibal was touching him. The soft touch contrasted so hard with his own touch, with what he expected from this scenario that his brain had to take a moment to process it. He blinked severely times, stunned by the caress an inch below his eye as Hannibal dragged his thumb to catch the tears that fell there. He didn’t realize he had been crying, and the shock made his grip relax around Hannibal’s throat, letting the air flow through it again, circulating down and back out over his tongue, condensing into vapor as it rose quickly, getting into Will’s eyes and hair before disappearing.

            He took a breath again, the knot at the top of his throat loosening into a wet, angry sob rather than the animalistic scream it had been moments ago. The realization came crashing down on him that he had nearly gone through with killing him, with removing the soul that his was conjoined with, the only person that had ever truly known who he was and could become, what he harbored, and he had nearly... He loved him, was _in_ love with him, and he…

            The shaking came back, but not from the effort of murder, but the shaking apart of himself. His frame struggled under the weight of his conflictions, his emergence, his honesty, and he sank towards Hannibal, leaning against him as his arms tried to keep his weight up above him, barely stable enough to keep him aloft. He dared to look at Hannibal again, his dark eyes so hard to see well even with the moonlight, but he could see the lines of his face, his expression content as his hand left Will’s cheek, dropping back to lean against his calf with all the trust and gentleness of a loyal, understanding friend. Even after Will had thrown them from the bluff, after he’d tried to kill them both he… Hannibal trusted him.

            His tears came back in earnest this time, streaming down Will’s face as the regret of what he had nearly done hit him in full force and he sank lower, fingers grasping and curling into Hannibal’s ruined sweater, squeezing the watery blood from its threads like a pathetic, grasping child. He let the wall down now, stripped himself bare and let himself cry in earnest, hunched over his body and clutching against him like a life line, _his_ life line.

            Hannibal’s chest rose and fell, and Will could hear and feel the racing heart just under him, beating a tune against his forehead. The rhythm was lovely, setting a beat to a song whose composition was set but not finished, and he realized with startling clarity that their hearts were beating in time, not the same, but complimentary. His sobbing quieted down as he listened, the weight of black, sharp horns forgotten as the sound of Hannibal’s life soothed him, finally. Their time signatures matched, but that was something he had known all along, hadn’t he? They had always complimented one another, but the score was shifting now as they lay on the beach together, under the shimmering bruise in the sky. They were shifting into another movement of their lives, and the struggle in his mind quieted at the thought of it, listening to their composition shift into a sweet, discordant melody like nothing he had ever heard before.

            After a while of listening against the constant roar of the ocean and the soft silence of the night that changed them both forever, their hearts jumped in time as Hannibal shifted under him and took a breath.


End file.
